


Jus

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Warning: Non-Graphic Mention of Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3782587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anya chooses a second.  A few years later, she must teach her that sometimes the blood of the enemy is your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jus

A warrior chose her second, but before she could, she had to prove herself. Anya had proven herself, and finally the commander told her that she could choose someone to train, someone who would follow in her footsteps, someone who would be her responsibility, yes, but also her legacy, her pride – the only child she was likely to ever have... at least until this one became a warrior in their own right, and she chose another.

She took her time choosing. She did not want to waste time and effort on someone who would prove to be not worthy. There were no shortage of young boys and girls and who wanted to find glory in battle, who swung sticks at each other like swords, played the games that children did that would prepare them for the struggle that life inevitably would be for them. 

There were several that she considered, that she watched and spoke to, trying to get their measure, but in the end the one she chose was not thirsty for glory, not desperate to prove herself. In the end, the one she chose had never shown any particular aptitude for or desire to be a warrior. 

"Who is she?" she asked, leaning close to one of the other warriors who stood beside and slightly in front of her. She had her eyes fixed on the girl who stood, back straight, chin up, eyes wide and unblinking, even as the wind caught the smoke and blew it in her face. She was at the front edge of the crowd, staring into the flames of the pyres reduced their fallen to bone, to ash. She wore no expression at all, but there was something in those eyes...

"Her name is Lexa," came the answer a moment later. "Her father was killed by Reapers a few years ago. Her mother was one of those taken by the Mountain Men. One of the ones whose body we found."

And orphan, then, and they weren't uncommon. The village would pick up the slack, take care of her. Someone would take her in. Except when the ceremony was over, and everyone began to disperse, the girl remained, refusing all suggestions that she walk away, politely but firmly. 

Anya stayed on the other side of the pyre until it had burned to nothing, and then she walked around the edges and approached the girl slowly. She stood as stiff as ever, as unmoving, her cheeks streaked with clean lines in the layer of soot that had formed there, where tears had fallen unheeded and perhaps without the girl's knowledge. She crouched down to bring herself to the girl's level; she was smaller than Anya had thought, watching her. 

"I'm Anya," she said.

"Lexa," the girl replied, but didn't look at her. 

"Your mother –"

"Don't say you are sorry about my mother," Lexa said, cutting her off. "Sorry will not bring her back."

"No," Anya agreed. "It won't."

"Sorry does not mean anything."

Anya studied her, studied how her hands were curled not quite into fists, how her knees were locked out straight, and she had to be in pain from standing that way for so long, but she didn't let it show. "It doesn't _change_ anything," she allowed. "I wouldn't say that it doesn't _mean_ anything." 

Lexa shrugged, the briefest lift and drop of her shoulders, shoulders too narrow to carry this kind of burden, but she had no choice and so she bore it and did not let it break her, or even bend her. Anya wasn't sure what the shrug meant, but she suspected that it was a false concession, that she was only doing it because she was too polite to disagree with someone older than her, and someone who had, at least recently, come to be respected in the clan. Assuming, of course, that she had any idea who Anya was, but the warrior got the feeling that the girl was aware of a lot more than she let on. Those wide blue eyes, she suspected, took in everything and stored it away for later use.

"She is gone," Anya said. "They are all gone. Standing here will not change that, either."

Lexa finally turned away from the pile of ash, where a few embers still glowed. She looked at Anya, and for a second the warrior was trapped in that gaze as surely as she might have been in a hunter's snare. "I have nowhere to go," she said simply.

"Of course you do," Anya said. She stood and held out her hand, palm up. "You're coming with me."

Lexa looked down at it, then up at Anya, then took her hand slowly, watching as the warrior's fingers closed around her own. She did not trust her, Anya could tell, but apparently it was the best offer that she'd received, and so she'd decided to take her chances.

They both had.

*

Though she woke at dawn every morning, it was rare that Lexa woke before her mentor. This morning, though, dawned cold, with frost on the ground, and maybe something in Anya had sensed that and decided to sleep just a little later than normal, seeking shelter from the chill under the furs that made up her bed.

But Lexa woke just as the sky was turning from black to gray, before any hint of color streaked the sky, uncomfortable and unsettled. She went to take care of her morning business, and quickly felt her stomach drop. 

Blood.

But she wasn't wounded; she hadn't been in any battles recently, or even in any fights that left a mark more severe than a bruise or two. But there was blood, what seemed like a lot of it, and no cut to match it to.

She went back to the tent that she shared with her mentor, shaking her awake. "Anya," she whispered. "Anya, please."

The warrior's eyes opened slowly, but when she saw Lexa's face, she pushed herself up on her elbow, reaching for her weapons. "What is it?"

"I'm bleeding," Lexa said. 

Anya's eyes darted from her face down to her hands, her body, searching for wounds and of course finding none. She looked at Lexa's face again, into her eyes, and then relaxed. "Ah," she said. "You're all right." She nudged Lexa until she shifted a little, and sat up, quickly dressing and putting on her boots, then showed her how to deal with the mess.

Lexa still felt like her heart was caught in her throat, despite Anya's calm demeanor and soothing tone. "You're a woman now," her mentor told her. "It just means that if you chose to, you could bear a child."

Lexa grimaced, and was annoyed when Anya laughed at her. It wasn't a mean laugh, more one of understanding, but it didn't make her like it any more. 

"No one will make you choose to," Anya said, the laughter still in her eyes, but then her expression turned more serious. "No one will make you do anything you don't want to. That is why we train. That is why I make sure that you are strong, not only in your body, but in your mind."

Lexa nodded her understanding. When her mother had died, she'd thought she would be alone in the world. Someone – specifically or the clan in general – would have made sure that she had what she needed, that she was fed and clothed and taught some skill that would serve the community, but she would have mostly been on her own. 

But then Anya had chosen her, taken her in, taught her, and although she thought of her parents sometimes, she knew – or at least hoped – that they would be happy that she had found someone who was willing to take her in, take her on, and that she was becoming someone that they could be proud of.

Anya squeezed her shoulders, then let her go. "Are you hungry?"

Lexa nodded, even though she wasn't. If anything, she was a little queasy. Blood didn't bother her, even her own blood... usually. This, though. This was something else, something she didn't like. It didn't matter what Anya said about choosing, this was not a choice, and if she'd had a choice she would have opted out. It was messy, and it felt like her guts were tying themselves in knots, and it was not anything she wanted, no or ever.

But she was stuck with it, and not eating wasn't going to make anything better. She doubted very much that her training would stop because of this... inconvenience... and she would need her strength.

*

Anya watched Lexa out of the corner of her eye, as she always did, but this time there was more of a purpose to it. She could see that the girl was paler than usual, her face more pinched and drawn, and she could tell that she was in pain. 

It was cruel, maybe, to let her suffer through it, but she had to know what the girl was made of. She had proven herself in training, and in battle, but there was more to being a warrior than being able to swing a sword or handle a dagger. This was where she would show her true colors, Anya thought, and if she proved herself unable to handle a little pain, well... maybe the choice she'd made – years ago now – hadn't been such a wise one.

When it came time to train, and Lexa was called to face one of the other warrior's seconds, a boy of about the same age but considerably larger than Lexa, Anya felt her heart speed up. The boy was known to be tough, bordering on out of control at times, and it would be a challenge for Lexa. She watched as her second stood up, took a step in the ring, and did not draw her sword.

"I will not fight him," she announced, her voice ringing clear in the cold morning. 

Everyone stopped. Not only those who were actively watching the training, but others who happened to be passing by as well. No one refused to fight; not if they hoped to become a warrior someday (not that she wasn't already – Anya had marked her shoulder more than once already, fierce with pride for the girl as she'd taken the pain of it without so much as a whimper), not if you hoped to receive any respect.

"You will not fight?" This was from the boy's mentor, who was known for his short temper. He looked at Anya. "What is this? You bring a coward—"

"I will not fight," Lexa said, "because I do not want to waste my time."

"What is she saying?" the man demanded, looking right past Lexa, straight at Anya. 

"Why do you ask me?" Anya replied coolly. "She can speak for herself." And she hoped that whatever the explanation was, it was a good one. Because Lexa was walking a very fine line that neither of them wanted to be on the wrong side of.

"Speak," he demanded then, glaring down at Lexa, and although she'd grown since the day that Anya had first seen her, she looked very small out there.

But she didn't look scared, or even worried. "I will not fight him because I do not want to waste my time," she repeated. 

"If you think that training is a waste of time, why are you here?"

"I don't think training is a waste of time," Lexa replied, her voice even. "I think that fighting _him_ is a waste of time."

"She's afraid," the boy said. 

"No," Lexa said. "I'm not afraid. I know that I will win. If I am going to fight, the outcome should not be a foregone conclusion."

Everyone stared. _Everyone._

Finally Anya spoke. "Explain," she said.

Lexa turned to look at her, turned her back on the boy and his mentor, an act that was foolhardy at best, because they might decide to attack her, but then Anya wondered if it wasn't intentional. If they attacked her from behind... well, it would be a challenge. Or it might be the end of her. She kept her hand near the hilt of her sword, just in case.

"He will attack me with an overhead swing, as he always does," Lexa said. "I have watched him, and he does the same thing every time. Even when he is told not to, even when he is told that his attack is predictable, he does not change." 

Anya watched the boy bristle, but also heard his mentor grunt, acknowledging perhaps against his will the truth of the statement. 

"He is bigger than me," Lexa continued, "and probably stronger. But I am smaller, and faster, and as he comes in, I will step in to him so that his swing goes past me." She outlined the rest of the fight – short though it would be – with brutal efficiency, then shrugged. "I will win. It will be quick and easy, and boring. So I will not fight."

"Your second needs to learn respect," the warrior snarled.

"Yours needs to learn another attack," Anya replied. "Come, Lexa." She took her away from the others, and fought with her herself, because however right her second might have been about the situation at hand, she had ruffled some feathers, and it was better to give people time and space to put things in perspective before risking Lexa's skin again.

That night, Lexa retreated to her bed early, without eating. Anya watched the space she occupied, currently as a lump under her blankets, and listened. She heard muffled sounds that sounded like small gasps, and sighed. The girl had suffered long enough.

She brewed up a cup of tea and carried it to where Lexa was clearly not sleeping. "Sit up."

The girl's face appeared, hastily dashing away the tears that pooled in her eyes. Her breath was still hitching, but she tried to steady it. 

"Drink this," Anya said, placing the cup in her hands. "It will help."

Lexa took one sip, her eyes never leaving Anya's, then another, blowing on it to cool it so that she could drink it faster. "Why?" she asked, sniffling.

"You had to know," Anya said. "And I had to know."

"Had to know _what_?"

"That you can get through it. That you can fight through pain, and think through it. There are things that can make pain less, but you won't always have access to them. You need to be able to function no matter what is going on in your body."

Lexa nodded, but as she drank down more of the tea her eyes filled with tears again. Anya reached out and stroked them away with her thumbs, cupping Lexa's face between her hands. "Tell me," she said softly. "I will try to help."

"It _hurts_ ," Lexa said. "My belly, but my _back_. It feels like someone's stuck a hot dagger into it, and into my hip, and—" She stopped herself, looking down, ashamed. She never complained. She never showed weakness. The fact that she did now told Anya just how bad it must be.

"Finish your tea, then lie on your stomach," Anya said. When Lexa did, she rubbed her back, working out the tension there until she relaxed a little. "Better?"

Lexa nodded, rolling onto her side. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Anya said. She looked at the girl, the girl who was hers at least for now, her first second, the first warrior who was her responsibility, and the closest thing she was ever likely to have to a daughter, although the age difference between them wasn't so great. A younger sister, then.

And she was special. She was quick, and good with a blade, perhaps even better with a dagger, but that was only a small part of it. She was _smart_. She observed, took everything in and processed it, stored it away for later use. She hadn't wanted to fight earlier, probably because she was feeling awful, so she'd found a way out of it that no one could argue with. 

She was a warrior, through and through, but she did not just follow orders blindly. She thought things through, planned. She would be a good teacher in her own right someday, and sometimes Anya thought maybe she was destined for something even greater. 

But right now she was just a girl whose strong warrior's body was now attacking her, and even though the tea would dull the pain, and hopefully Anya had helped ease some of the ache as well, she was still looking at Anya like she wanted, needed, something more.

She was a woman now, but inside of her was still that little girl who had stood for hours watching her mother's body burn to ash, alone and unwavering. Her spirit was strong, her will iron, and she knew – Anya knew that she know – that pain was only weakness that had to be fought through. If she hadn't known before, she knew now. 

Anya could not let her become soft. If she did, it would end up getting her killed. But it was just the two of them, and no one would know if she showed a little mercy, would they? Just this once.

"Shove over," she said, kicking off her boots, and Lexa, eyes widening, did as she was told. Anya laid down beside her, wrapping Lexa in her arms, and held her close. 

She felt the last of Lexa's tension ebb as she heaved a sigh that felt like a breath she'd been holding all day, and within a few minutes, her breathing evened out into the pattern that Anya had become so familiar with over the years. 

"It will be better in the morning, sweetling," she murmured, when she knew that Lexa was asleep and would not hear. "I promise."


End file.
